


Forgetting to Remember You

by FunWhileItLasts



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: All Over Again, Basically Laurent hits his head and forgets the past ten or so years, Because its after canon, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Memory Loss, So much fluff its just Laurent falling in love again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-26 02:32:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13848234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunWhileItLasts/pseuds/FunWhileItLasts
Summary: After hitting his head in a practice accident, Laurent forgets the past ten years. He must re-adjust to his life, attempt to regain his memories and try to remember why the barbarian who killed his dear brother is calling him My Love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small first chapter because I was unsure about this so it's just an idea. If you guys like it lemme know if I should write more?

Tendrils of scorching pain danced behind his eyes. He winced ever so slightly. His hands reached up to cup the sides of his head, as if he could push the pain out of his mind. Nausea churned in his stomach, threatening a re-emergence of his dinner. He heard voices floating from far away. He let go of his head, forced himself to sit up. The nausea made its way up his throat. 

“Good hit,” Laurent said, swallowing heavily. "I've got to learn that move." 

His vision was blurry. He tried to blink things into focus. The sand beneath his fingers was damp. 

“Your Majesty,” came a worried voice, “Lay back down, your Majesty. You may be hurt” 

Laurent turned his head, sourcing the voice to Paschal.  
The concerned man put a hand to the back of Laurent’s head, gently guiding him down. As his head was led onto the sand he realized that the concerned man was far too old to be Paschal. Where crow’s feet were mere shadows on Paschal’s foreheads, this man had indented smile line and a forehead full of creases. 

“Paschal,” Laurent said, “You’re old.” He heard how weak his voice was.

Not-Paschal looked him. 

“King Laurent, can you tell me where we are?” He asked softly. 

Laurent had to think for a moment. 

“The Palace of Vere.”

The dents somehow managed to deepen along the man’s forehead. Laurent thought it would be easy to hide food in wrinkles that deep. 

“Please follow my finger without moving your head, you Majesty.”

He held his index finger up, far too close to Laurent’s face in his opinion. He diligently followed the movement from side to side. The movement of his heads causing the pin of flare up.

Not-Paschal put his finger down, then turned and spoke to the guards. 

Laurent led on the sand, wallowing in the pain, until he remembered that wasn’t very prince-like.

He pushed himself up. He found his feet, only to immediately lose them. 

His sluggish movements barely caught his fall. He felt his brain rattle around in his skull as he dropped his weight to the ground.

He felt rather sorry for himself with the persistent throbbing in the back of his head.

“Your majesty, were going to put you on a stretcher.” Not-Paschal said. 

He sounded so much like Paschal, Laurent thought. Maybe he had a son he didn’t tell Laurent about. He felt vaguely insulted. He thought they were growing close in the past year he had been treating Laurent’s nightly troubles.

“Where’s my uncle?” Laurent murmured. Hands touched him, lightly but an almost startling solidarity. He didn’t have the energy to struggle. He was lifted onto a stretcher of coarse, strong fabric. 

At the lack of a response, he tried to turn his head. He let out a whimper at the pain that shot into his eyes.

“Physician?” he called, staring blinkingly into the clear sky as the stretcher began to move.

“Your Majesty, your uncle is not with us,” said Not-Paschal.

Laurent felt a churn in his stomach that wasn’t from the push-and-pull nausea of the stretcher. His uncle had been paying him less and less attention lately. He knew he was being childish getting angry about it, and the extra hours he spent in the dueling ring, building muscle, didn’t help his case.  
Uncle will be so angry at me, Laurent thought.

“We’re taking you to the King’s Chambers. Your husband has been alerted.” Not-Paschal was speaking perfectly fine Veretian, but Laurent was not understanding him one bit.

Thoughts floated through his mind, that something in that statement was wrong, but he wasn’t able to formulate them. He wanted to protest, say that he couldn’t go to the King’s Chambers like this, that his Uncle would punish him for hurting himself. He wanted to question why Not-Paschal thought a fourteen year old boy was married. He wanted to say a lot, but his vision swam in front of him and the sky faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while I know but inspiration takes time and writing is hard. Hope you enjoy this chapter, I have lots in store for poor Laurent.

“You have a severe case of amnesia, Your Majesty.”

Laurent restrained himself from rolling his eyes; he could’ve diagnosed himself at this point. 

Heavy, downy pillows propped him up in a comfortable bed. He had been told these were his chambers, his chambers as King. Not that it made any sense, of course.

He didn’t look fourteen, he didn't feel fourteen, he knew he wasn’t fourteen. Yet he could only remember being fourteen. His head hurt with the thought of all that lost time, but it was the only explanation. 

Paschal, who was now sporting a weary look from his seat next to the bed, had poked and prodded him with questions. 

How did he feel? Tired.

What was the last thing he remembers? Training in the practice ring.

Does he know where he was? Obviously not.

It was tedious. He demanded the correct answer to each question Paschal asked him, and then some.

“How old am I actually?” 

“You’re twenty four years of age,” Paschal had explained slowly, “You came into the throne after overthrowing your uncle, who was your regent. He was plotting against you.”  
Laurent was shocked at how steady his voice was as he questioned Paschal. It must’ve been something he learned over the years.

“Where is uncle now? In prison?” He asked.

“Dead, Your Majesty. He tried to kill you, start a war against you and your husband.”

“My husband.” Monotonous and straight-forward. 

Of course, twenty four year old Laurent would have a husband. He wondered what oaf he had married, it was probably for an army if he has been fighting a war.

“Your husband,” Paschal’s tired expression softened. He said slow: “King Damianos of Akielos.”

“You know, it is awful cruel to joke when I’m in such a state.”

Laurent found his mind in instant uproar, and wondered where the quick reply had come from. His heart skipped a beat as Paschal continued with an open expression.

“I understand that, from the time you remember, you were angry at King Damianos, but it is to my understanding that you came to value him under certain circumstances that forced you into close proximity.”

Laurent felt nauseous again. 

“You’ve ruled together for several years now, uniting your kingdoms. It’s been the most prosperous start to a new ruler in history,” Paschal reasoned.

Of course, Laurent was a good King, but that savage?   
Damianos of Akielos was a killer, a stone cold warrior who cut down dear Auguste without mercy or regret. Laurent could never come to love such a beast, he knew it couldn’t be true.

Suddenly, the door flung open with a smooth ‘woosh’ of polished wood against polish stone. A rush of people entered. Actually, Laurent saw it was just a few people, very big people. Leading them at the front was a large, dark skinned man. He towered over the other men with ease and elegance and a devastated expression. He strode over to the bed. He knelt.

“My love,” His deep voice broke. He reached out a large hand, to grab Laurent’s own. 

Laurent pulled back.

“No.” 

His voice didn’t quiver. He held firm despite the pounding of his heart in his ears. He found he didn’t have to fight his muscles to keep his face neutral. For a moment, as the shock subsided, he wondered what kind of life he lived to navigate such trauma with outward ease.

“Laurent, my love, what happened?” 

Damianos of Akielos, knelt by his bedside, calling him ‘love’, with large puppy dog eyes and a quivering voice.

“You,” Laurent found he had to force the hatred into his voice. “I married you.” 

Damianos pulled back. His large mournful eyes shone with hurt. Laurent thought that’d feel good, to see even an ounce of displeasure on his enemy’s face. Instead, something was pulling at a string in his mind. A memory, something like a memory flashed before him. A smile, full of white teeth and laughter. Damianos’ smile.

“Oh Gods I married you.” 

Panic crept into his voice. He remembered something, the scent of flowers from a wedding arch, and the soft light in a candle-lit bedchamber.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Damianos shrugged heavily. A sheepish smile plastered on his face and glistening eyes. 

Revulsion and confusion swam in Laurent’s gut.

He jerked forward, attempting to sit and move, to get out of this stately bed-chamber and lay his hands on a weapon. A sharp one.

Pain flared up behind his eyes and weaved its way down his neck like vines. He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Why would I marry a murderer?” 

He sharp intake of breath and he pushed himself backwards, Paschal’s hands propping his head as if he were an infant. 

He swallowed down the humiliation to spit out “What happened to me, to trust such a beast?” 

“Laurent, please, I can explain this. You’ll understand, we love…“

“I’ll understand nothing.” Laurent interjected. 

“Your Majesty, King Damianos is concerned for you.” Paschal spoke in his sturdy tone. Laurent would’ve felt chastised if he cared enough. “If you wish him to leave, he will.” He shot a heavy look at Damianos, “and if you wish him to stay and explain I am sure he will do so to your satisfaction.” 

“I will gain no satisfaction from remaining in his company.” Laurent turned a hard glare onto the kneeling King. “Leave.” 

“It’s okay. This isn’t you. I know it isn’t.” His voice broke again, scratchy and deep.

“Your Majesty, King Damianos, perhaps it is best if you leave.”

“I won’t.” 

A stubborn beast, as well as savage then.

“I won’t leave him.”

“I would like you to leave me. I would like that very much actually.” 

It was cruel, Laurent knew it. This man, this King, had fallen to his bedside close to tears. The emotion was clear on his face, undeniable and pure. Perhaps Damianos was in love with Laurent, but Laurent could not fathom why Damianos thought that Laurent could ever have loved him back. 

“Laurent, you are just injured right now.” Damianos spoke slowly, as if to himself. “When you remember what we are to each other, you do not need to worry, I forgive you.”

Laurent’s chest tightened. “Forgive me.” He spoke considerately, slowly. “You.” Laurent took inhaled before each word, so that he knew they would come out solid, “Will. Forgive. Me.” He forced his features into a mocking look of pity. What a pathetic, stubborn, savage beast. “Tell me, Husband, after the live we’ve led who has to forgive who?” He tapped a finger to his lips. “When you killed my brother, my father and my childhood, did I forgive you? When you humiliated my country in a needless battle to satisfy your savage blood-lust, did I forgive you? When you lured me into a marriage with a man I hate,” He spat out, rage burning in his eyes and kept in the bed only by the hand Paschal clamped on his shoulder, “Did I forgive you?”

Tear were running freely down Damianos’ face. During their marriage, Laurent wondered how many times they’d had this argument. He knew himself, he knew he wouldn’t have made this a happy marriage. 

Swallowing heavily, with an openly shaky breath, Damianos nodded. 

“Yes.” He breathed, so quiet Laurent would have not believed the whisper had he not watch his lips. “Yes, my love. You forgave me.”

He didn’t bow his head. His eyes shone. 

“You forgave me, and I forgave you.” For the amount of tears etching their way down Damianos’ glossy skin, his voice was surprisingly steady.

“What could I have possibly have done to harm you?” Laurent scoffed.

“Exalted,” finally one of the Akielon entourage spoke up, “Perhaps we should leave King Laurent to listen to Paschal’s advice.” 

Laurent stared at the man for a long, hard second. He noted that the man made swift eye contact before returning his gaze to his King. A name came to the forefront of his mind.

“Listen to Nikandros, and leave me be.” Laurent ordered.

Immediately all heads swiveled to stare at him. 

“You remember me?” Nikandros asked, shocked.

“Unfortunately.”   
Laurent didn’t know whether his tone was spiteful or sarcastic but Nikandros smiled. He turned, laying a hand on Damainos’ arm and gave a light squeeze that didn’t go unnoticed. 

“I’ll leave you.” Damianos said.

“Finally.”

Damianos gave him one last, heavy look, full of unbridled longing that made Laurent nervous to his stomach.   
With a nod, he turned around and left the King’s chambers. Laurent heard his voice floating through the corridors outside, ordering guards to be doubled and assistance called for Paschal.

Laurent paid no attention. His eyes unfocused on the present as Paschal began to explain his treatments. Memories swarmed him. Tears, unbidden, clouded his vision, triggered by an open back chiton and lines upon lines on savage scars across a King’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments make me update quicker, its the laws of inspiration and expectation.


	3. Chapter 3

The setting sun in Akielos made quite the view. Laurent tried to calculate how many time he must have seen it, going through the years and days in his head until it hurt.

He remembered doing something similar as a child. He would count the words in his book until he fell asleep alone in a chair, in his own room.

He had managed, with the help of Paschal, to walk out onto the balcony that overlooked the sea. The palace of Ios sat on snow white cliffs. When the last tendrils of sunlight hit the water and crawled up the white marble, the palace shone as if encrusted with diamonds. It was an ostentatious nightmare. It completely counteracted the simplistic geometric the Akielons based their architecture on. 

Under the protection of a silk canopy, he ate slowly.

Paschal had filled him in to the best of his ability. Images of quicksilver and vapour polluted Laurent's mind. Swords rang in his ears from battles he couldn't understand, and his Uncle's familiar expression sat in unfamiliar settings. Paschal had been informative on many matters, but had respectfully refused to comment on Damianos.

Laurent had poured out question after question on the matter, to be met with spewed out, pointless comments on the solidarity of their rule and the good they achieved by uniting their kingdoms.

Laurent hated every work of it. He couldn't deny, however, that they felt true. Laurent knew they were real, his mind heartedly accepting them as fact without further knowledge.

It was disconcerting.

Ideally, upon hearing such a rush of news he would've liked to go for a ride. Perhaps he would've toured the halls of his new palace, or even called a council meeting to catch up.   
But it was dark by the time Paschal had filled him in. Dark, and Laurent was hungry.

A servant stood in the shadows of the balcony. He approached only to serve water and remove plates. Laurent considered his presence for a moment, gazing out to the ocean view unseeing.

He tapped the rim of his water glass, signalling the servant to come forward.

Out of his periphery, Laurent noted the fine features and tanned skin. He smirked as he lifted the full glass to his lips; he still had a taste for the finer things then.

"Tell me," he said, turning to the servant, "What is your name?"

“Kallias, Your Majesty.” The servant said, bowing as low as possible whilst holding the pitcher.

“How long have you worked for me?” Laurent questioned. 

“Since your ascent to the throne, Your Majesty”

Laurent hummed thoughtfully.

“And do you work for me, or my husband?” Managing to keep the distaste out of his voice, Laurent pondered the thought that everyone here could be Damianos’ agent. But there   
was always the possibility that the savage was so self-assured that he felt secure.

“It is one and the same, Your Majesty.” Kallias replied. He fidgeted on his feet, passing the weight of the pitcher from one hand to the other.

“You can stop bowing. What do you mean by that?”

Kallias straightened. He moved his gaze to the table, rather than Laurent. 

“Will you allow me to speak freely, Your Majesty?” Kallias asked

Laurent waved a hand, in a do-go-on gesture.

“Your Majesty and the Exalted shared everything. From royal duties, to running the palace.” With a shutter quick glance at Laurent, he added, “to your chambers.” 

“Were we friends?” Laurent asked, gesturing from himself to the servant. 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Kallias said.

“That doesn’t surprise me, come here.”

Letting out a breath, Kallias came forward. He stood awkwardly, still clutching the pitcher, by Laurent’s side.

“Take a seat then, I have more questions.” Laurent said, pushing out a seat with his foot.

Glancing from the offered chair to his King, Kallias paused.

“What is it?”

“That’s normally Exalted’s chair.” 

Laurent huffed, kicking out another. “And this one? Has he ever sat here or shall we converse on the floor?”

Kallias sat down.

“You say I normally take dinner with Damianos?” Laurent prompted.

“You make a point out of it, Your Majesty. You’re both normally so busy in the day, but you always made sure you had some time alone.”

Choosing to ignore his ‘friends’ clear innuendo, Laurent continued with, “And what were we like?” He lent forward on his elbows.

“You were happy,” Kallias smiled, “Never have I seen a couple with so much love.”

Laurent lent backwards. 

“Never seemed forced or angry?” 

“If you’re angry, the entire palace knows.” 

Laurent frowned at that, but Kallias went on. 

“But with Exalted you seemed happy, and I’ve definitely never seen you forced to be nice to anyone, Your Majesty.”

Laurent couldn’t help the sigh he let out.

“So it is all actually true.” He stood up, walking away from the table to lean against the balcony. He registered the scrapping of Kallias’ chair too. “I am actually happily married to Damianos, who slaughtered my brother.” Laurent sneered, “happily.”

“It is not my place to comment on your relationship, Your Majesty, but, if you didn’t have a happy married, I don’t know what is.” Kallias said.

Laurent looked back at him. A phrase caught in his mind. Kallais didn’t seem the sort of man to mind his place.

“You used to be a slave.” He said.

Kallias nodded. 

“Exalted ended slavery in Akielos. It was one of the first things you did as Kings, together.”

Laurent held his gaze for a long moment before Kallias averted it.

The golden band around his wrist had a weight worth more than gold.

“Thank you for satisfying my questions, Kallias. I have just one more request.” Laurent turned back to the view. “Bring my captain in, I wish to speak with him.”

“He’s on duty, Your Majesty.”

Laurent rolled his eyes.

“Well, tell him to leave his post.”

“Jord wouldn’t do that without an official summons.”

Laurent froze against the balcony for a second. Jord, he remembered. So his scrappy Prince’s guard had done well for himself. He probably deserved it.

“Do you know where he’ll be?”

Kallais face did a strange somersault of emotions, from pitying to sad to awkward.

“He’s, um, he’s outside.”

“Outside where, exactly?” 

“Outside your chambers, Your Majesty.”

“That’s leaving a large space for me to search. Any way you could narrow that down a touch?”

“But the physician said your shouldn’t exert yourself, or leave your chambers.” Kallias said.

Laurent flashed a look over his shoulder, making Kallais startle.

With gritted teeth, he turned around.

“As King you’d think I’d be allowed to travel my own palace.” Laurent raised an eyebrow, letting scorn into his voice. “Now tell me, Kallias.” His attempt to sound threatening was   
efficient.

Kallais looked as if he regretted allowing himself into this conversation.

Meekly he said ‘He’s guarding the secondary royal chambers.”

Laurent noticed his white knuckles, gripped tight on the pitcher. He noticed how Kallais’ knees almost quivered.

He remembered stretches of white scars against dark tanned skin.

He felt sickened to his stomach. He prayed his dinner would not come up, it’d be so very unbecoming.

He forced softness into his voice.

“Will you accompany me there?” 

He padded closer to Kallais, slowly. 

With a quiet, but noticeable breath, Kallais added ‘Exalted will be there.”

Internally, Laurent let out a scream that would’ve been heard across the world. A scream that encompassed an extreme unwilling to see someone he hated, and the horrible   
acceptance that he must to get what he needed.

“That’s okay." Laurent madehimself smile when Kallais chanced a glance. "I suppose I must see my husband at some point.” 

The words tasted like sawdust in his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW I have no idea how amnesia works but enjoy Laurent and Damen finally talking.

Jord looked, whilst still far older than Laurent remembered, somewhat familiar. His brown hair turning grey, but still straight-backed. He gave a formal nod of the head as Laurent greeted him.

“Would you like us to announce your arrival to Damen?” Jord asked, forcing hesitancy from his voice though Laurent could read it in his averted gaze.

“Do you normally announce my arrival?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Then let us not stand on abandoned ceremony.” Laurent pushed the door open gesturing Jord and the quiet Kallias to follow.

The secondary royal chambers were just as opulent as his own. Trimmed with delicate golden vines, the marble furniture contrasted nicely with the darker mahogany tones of the tables and seats. It drew one’s eyes to the prominent features of the reclining seats and dining table. Both of which were occupied.   
Damianos laid on the reclined seat, on his front with his hands curled under his head.   
Nikandros sat at the table, parchment spread in front of him. His sword lay on the opposite end.

“He’s asleep, Your Majesty.” 

Laurent hummed. 

He walked to Nikandros, peering at the parchments. A glance told Laurent they were trade deals, a skim read told him they were quite favourable to Akielos.

“Do you remember signing these?” Nikandros asked.

“I do not even remember writing them.” Laurent patted Nikandros on the shoulder. 

“Is it the Patran wool deal?” Jord asked, quietly coming forward. “You signed them two weeks ago at the annual Kyroi meeting.”

“Why would you know that?” Laurent asked. A Captain of the Guard shouldn’t be involved in trade deals.

“You complained about it for a week,” Jord said. 

Kallias took a step forward, nodding. “Said you’d have gotten a better price for the wool if the border kyroi didn’t have so much of it in their heads.” Kallias gave him an expectant look, as if he wanted Laurent to suddenly stand and shout he remembered. He turned back to the papers.

“It was still extremely good for establishing a new trade route.” Nikandros defended himself and the other Kyroi.

“I could’ve made it better.”

Nikandros gave Laurent a slight glare that made him smile. 

Laurent could not remember the deal itself, but he had vague memories of complaining to Jord, working his frustrations out in the sparring ring. He could remember telling Kallias to never fall for their big, stupid muscles because the Kyroi were as thick as they come.

Laurent’s smile was due to more than the childish pleasure he received from Nikandros’ mild annoyance. He smiled because he remembered times when Nikandros had glared at him, in both honest, aggressive anger and silly irritation. 

His smile fell, remembering the way Nikandros had glared as he first saw Damianos’ scarred back. So much anger thrown at him, rage and hatred spat out in a temper that   
Damianos had calmed. Laurent had understood then; he could remember the tight furl of guilt that settled in his stomach and never truly left. He had given the order and   
Damianos had received every bit of the anger that Laurent had to give. 

Laurent took a breath to steady himself, hiding the sharp intake as he turned on his heel. He strode over to a water pitcher, pouring himself a cup. Gently sipping from it, he traversed the room to look at Damianos led on the seat. 

His chiton lay diagonally across his back, revealing his muscular, scarred shoulders. 

Laurent poured water over the exposed skin.

Damianos gave a jerk and pushed himself up. His hard muscles bunched and stretched as he comically shook the sleep from his head and rose. He reached up to touch the wet   
skin.

He looked up, at Laurent stood before him.

“Did my back offend you?”

“Everything about you offends me,” Laurent scoffed, finally allowing himself to move. 

Damianos’ eyes followed Laurent around the seat, noticing their audience.

“What’s going on?” He asked, looking from person to person.

Laurent took at seat at the table. He gestured Jord and Kallias to take a seat, which they did with trepidation.

Damianos stood, walking towards the table.

“Laurent,” He said slowly, “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Laurent swung out the chair next to him.

“I was rather hoping you’d tell me.”

Damianos sat down slowly.

“What do you remember?” He asked. Concern coloured his voice. 

Laurent found it both amusing and saddening and he couldn’t be bothered to reconcile the two feelings. 

“Well, I cannot tell you how much I remember because I do not know what I have forgotten.” Laurent pointed out. “What I hope this little group can do, is fill me in on some finer   
details.”

Kallias shifted in his seat, drawing Laurent’s attention from the stillness of the soldiers.

Raising an eyebrow, he spoke. “Do you feel you have nothing to say?”

Kallias blinked, and shook his head.

“Use your words.” 

“I do not think it my place to inform Your Majesty on your life.”

Laurent huffed in amusement, “I shouldn’t worry, I shan’t trust a word you say regardless.”

Kallias shrunk back into his chair, looking as if he’d rather fall off it onto the floor. 

Laurent amended, “Everything you tell me, I will verify. If found false it should reflect on myself, not you.”

Kallias looked confused, but nodded. 

If they spoke of Laurent’s character and he found it not to be true, he would be able to tell just how much deception he had put into this alliance.

Returning to the gaze of the other men, Laurent found Damianos smiling at him.

“Get that grin off your face, and tell me the current affairs of state,” he demanded.

Damianos rolled his eyes and didn’t drop the grin.

He rattled off talk of trades and the economy and education with surprising efficiency. 

Laurent remained quiet as he spoke, each topic inciting a corner of knowledge in his mind, previously untraversed. 

As Damianos spoke of the Ios education centre and the education gardens, Laurent found himself remembering days spent in the sun, sat talking to previous slaves, to educators and craftsmen who worked to help the freed find a new life. He remembered himself, with Damianos and his men by his side, tearing the uninhabitable slave quarters down. The quarters where slaves used for anything but pleasure were kept. He remembers Damianos’ hunched shoulders, and how he carefully massaged the tension out of them that night.

“We were meant to have talks tomorrow on the position of the Eastern provinces’ alliance, but it’s understandable if you miss them,” Damianos finished.

“I will be attending them.” Laurent couldn’t allow what control he’d cultivated in this country to slip. He turned his gaze to Jord. “Tell me the names and families of each member of   
the royal guard.”

Jord ran through the names with a precision that Laurent appreciated. He found some faces and put them to the names. Others would have to wait until they met again.

Turning to Kallias, he requested names of the servants he worked closely with. Damianos had some input in describing the ones Kallias couldn’t. 

Laurent nodded along, sitting in silence and letting the wave of information wash memories and knowledge into his grasp. Laurent sat in silence when Kallias was finished. Which took a while, considering how much he supposedly didn’t want to give his opinion, he sure was good at it. 

The silence stretched on, and Laurent thought of a million questions to further his knowledge, but only one seemed of any extreme importance. He kept it in. 

Nikandros spoke first. “What do you want to know from me?”

Laurent levelled a look at him. “Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Nikandros gave him a light glare.

“Are we done for this evening, Your Majesty?” Jord asked.

Laurent nodded, dismissing them. Kallias hurried out first, Jord on his heels. Nikandros looked from one King to the other, to the untouched parchment sprawled across the table. 

“Do you have something to say?” Laurent challenged.

Nikandros looked to Damianos, a question evident in his eyes. From his periphery, Laurent caught Damianos’ nod.

Nikandros took his leave.

With everybody gone, Laurent felt the presence of Damianos acutely, as if his sheer size was expanding and filling every corner of the room. As if the room narrowed down to the space between them. How many flagstones between them, how many steps, how much time would he have to retreat.

“Laurent,” Damianos said softy, “What do you remember?”

Laurent found his gaze sliding across the room, seeking out the bright light of a candle. 

He stared at the flame, how it flickered with every heartbeat, weak in the draught from an open window. Laurent turned his head, pulling his gaze from the candle to his husband.

“We were in love.” 

He searched candle-lit brown eyes with his icy blue ones.

“Yes, we are,” Damianos said. He blinked tears out of his eyes, reaching out to take Laurent’s hand.

Laurent let him.

“We are. Everything we have built together, it has been because of each other.” Damianos took a breath. 

Emotion fogged Laurent’s vision. Nameless and shapeless and all encompassing, it forced a shaking breath of his own.

“I do not remember how.” 

He found himself shaken at the knowledge, knowledge he already acquired and simply hadn’t realised.

“What do you mean?” Damianos asked. He pushed forward, to the edge of his seat, leaning in. “That you do not remember the time we spent together? That you’ve forgotten how it feels?” He asked.

“How much do you know about me?” Laurent asked, a whisper.

“Only ever as much as you, yourself, revealed.” Damianos smiled.

Laurent’s eyes were drawn to the dimple in his cheek. It was neither savage, nor suitable for a warrior-king. It was sweet.

“I remember nothing since I was fourteen years old, still under my uncle’s care.” 

Damianos nodded. “You will regain your memories, your understanding. It may take a while, but already since this morning you have come to remember us. Look,” He exclaimed quietly, holding up their joined hands, “this morning you would’ve run me through for this.”

Laurent pulled his hand from his husband’s, rising and moving away. He had no destination, but ended up fortunately by a pitcher of dark liquid. The smell made his stomach roll. 

He poured a glass and downed it, heedless of Damianos’ reproachful ‘Laurent’. 

“I remember,” He spoke slowly, “You as the man who killed my brother, leaving me with nobody, as a man I had in chains, kissing my boot and being whipped, as the man who wore a golden crown by my side as I was coronated and a golden crown by my side as I was married. I do not know who you are, Damianos.”

Tears leaked from his husband’s eyes and Laurent did not know whether to view them with pity or to weep for himself.

“I have always been by your side, Laurent.” Damianos said, coming forward. “We have been true to each other, and honest and fair and loving.”

Laurent must’ve pulled a face for Damianos repeated. 

“Loving. Yes, loving. You love me, even if you cannot remember.”

Laurent didn’t have the heart to tell him that he did not. How aggravating that he had a conscious now. 

“I do not know that.” His voice was calm, like low clouds hiding an approaching storm. “All I know is seeing you, it fills me with resentment and pain, and yet I do not want us to   
leave this room separately.” He felt both, down to his core, as if one hand was willing to land a fatal blow and the other was outstretched, willing to accept all Damianos spoke as the gospel truth. The anger kept him in check, the tightness wrapping around his chest bursting with thoughts that he couldn’t put into words, didn’t know how to.

“I do not understand how we forgot who we were.”

Damianos stepped closer. 

“We never forgot. You have always known who I am, and I you.”

“You know all about me?” Laurent asked again.

“What do you mean when you ask that?” 

“You think I’ve told you everything about myself?”

Damianos let out an almost desperate laugh. “Told me? Laurent, I’ve had to pry out every bit of information that I could get. You keep your emotions in check, even now, your   
thoughts tucked away until they’re ready to be utilised. I know you, and yet I do not, nor do I ever wish to. You are a surprise I am constantly discovering.”

“And you’ve liked all these surprises, enough to marry me?” 

He poured himself another cup. Sipping it this time, he let the sharp taste sit on his tongue. Griva. He swallowed. How could he have forget that, he thought with a wince.

“I have not liked all of them, but we’ve worked through them.” Damianos spoke with a certainty Laurent believed. This man was a terrible liar, after all. 

“Even my Uncle?” Laurent asked. His breath quavered and he swallowed it down. He looked Damianos in the eye and refused to back down. 

“You remember being fourteen.” Damianos said cautiously. 

“Like it was this morning,” Laurent joked, taking a gulp and moving to the seats behind Damianos. He cradled the cup in his palms. “I cannot imagine myself being with you, though I know it is true.” Laurent confessed.

Damianos had not moved, his back to Laurent, speaking to the wall.

“It has not always been easy, my love. Some nights you have nightmares, where you are fourteen again.” Damianos’ voice was quiet. “You do not enjoy touch then, so I imagine you   
do not now. I apologise for taking your hand earlier.”

Laurent’s hands tightened around his cup. He turned to look at Damianos, who had turned to look at him.

“I do not need your apologies. I have dealt with unsavoury things long enough for a simple touch to bear no concern.” 

Damianos grimaced. 

“What does bear concern is how I act as King.”

“You’ve always been a natural.” Damianos offered.

“I’ve had training, acting as a King is simple enough, being a good one is another matter.”

Damianos repeated, “You’ve always been a natural.”

“What you see as a natural ability was, I’m sure, the result of hours cultivating research, intelligence and contingencies. Now, I’ve forgotten all my plans.”

“I didn’t know you had any plans.”

“I thought you were meant to know me,” Laurent smiled, “I’ve always got plans.”

“I wish you’d tell me what they were.”

Laurent laughed, “I wish I could tell myself. Now, can you think of anyone I would confide in? Anywhere I may write down information?” He pressed.

“You confide in no-one, much to my frustration.” Damen rolled his eyes. He came closer, taking a seat a distance away from Laurent.

Laurent hummed softly. Of course he wouldn’t. He had to treat himself like a stranger, investigate his interest, companions, hobbies, until something stood out. Something had to stand out. A niggling feeling in a forgotten corner of his mind had his thoughts racing.

“Laurent, it is dark now, almost the middle of the night,” Damianos interjected, “Should we not retire?”

Laurent’s head throbbed, as if to punctuated Damianos’ request. He had to agree.

He went to stand, giving his goodnight to Damianos. Damianos moved with him, walking to the door by his side.

He stopped.

“You’re not sharing my bed.” He spoke bluntly.

Damianos gave a sad smile. 

“I didn’t expect to. But you want to keep up appearances that nothing has changed, and we’ve never slept apart.”

“The servants will know in the morning when you are on the floor.” 

“Kallias will keep the secret.”

“Is he the only servant in our employ?” Laurent asked with a huff.

“The only one you trust to wake you on time,” Damianos laughed. He moved to the door, and Laurent followed.

“If he is the servant to wake us, why was he serving me tonight?”

“Because he wanted to see if you were alright. He trusted no-one else.”

Laurent smiled slightly as he was given another reason for befriending the young man.

Reaching for the door handle, in a hushed voice so as not to be heard by the outside guards, Laurent spoke. “We are pretending I have not forgotten everything about us, that we are back to what they think is normal –“

“What is normal.”

“And so you must inform me now, of anything the guards may find suspicious of my behaviour as they escort us.”

With a raised eyebrow, Laurent waited for Damianos’ response.

“Normally you do not seem reluctant to share a bed with me, so make sure they think you’re very enthusiastic.”

“I fail to believe I am ever the one trailing behind with puppy dog eyes and drool falling from their jaws,” Laurent scoffed.

Damianos shrugged with that dimpled simple, “Worth a try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there's any mistakes, constructive criticism is appreciated :)


End file.
